By the Moonlight
by schizofragile
Summary: Matt is thinking about Near’s personality when he meets him by a hallway. Implied MattxNear, oneshot.


Title: By the Moonlight

Author: iP

Summary: Matt is thinking about Near's personality when he meets him by a hallway. Matt/Near, oneshot.

A.N.: Sorry, I got dragged in by the awesomeness that is Matt/Near. The timeframe is during their stay at Wammy's House. XP Enjoy?

EDITSON: Italicized sentences and phrases are speech. Not to be confused with italicized words which are just used for emphasis. XD; It's better-looking that way rather than using quotation marks.

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_Hey, Matt, aren't you listening?_

Mello looks at me with a confused face, thinking if I've been sick with fever or something. I shrug halfheartedly, and ask him to continue. To think that he would actually consider it is something so… pathetic. Never in a million years would Mello think about it.

But when I detach myself from his reasoning, I couldn't help but feel a nagging guilt overwhelm me; sometimes I have to veer my thoughts off another topic so I wouldn't feel so much pressured. However thick Mello can be, I think he _does_ notice it when I glance at him warily, as if tired by his repeated statement and furious, relentless declarations of war. It's just that he doesn't tell; I almost think he watches me, waiting for my move.

_Matt? Are you sure you're fine?_

_No, it's nothing; I just need to relax,_ I say. He eyes me for some seconds before nodding. Finally. I thought I wasn't going to get away from his almost-daily rants. I walk away, hands focused on pushing the buttons on the game console, feeling him stare as I go. As I turn in a corner, I breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, Mello and I are buddies, but still, I have my own problems to handle too. Like now, my stock of cigarettes is running out—

Whoops. I was too clumsy and the stick fell on the floor. Great.

I pause the game, and I stoop low to pick it up.

_Is this yours?_

Before I could reach to the cigarette stick, a small hand already closed itself upon it. A small, pale, delicate hand held my cigarette.

_Is this yours?_ he asks once more.

I nod numbly, forgetting the paused game on my gaming console, waiting to be back into the action once more. He gingerly picks it up and hands it over to my waiting palm.

I was about to say thank you when I forcefully bit my lip—and I wince in pain, feeling the edges of my teeth bury itself on my tongue. No, this was the one Mello detested, the one he despised. As this thought flooded my brain, a new contradicting statement appeared in my mind. He has done nothing at all, except outdo him in academics. It was a trivial matter; but to Mello, it was not.

He stares at me with his grey eyes—scrutinizing, thinking, _calculating_.

_You don't have to thank me._

Yes, he is _indeed_ a genius. He must've seen it on my expression. Am I that transparent? And Mello says I am not. Ha, then he must've read him like a book. Poor Mello, transparent as a bubble.

I stare at him right back, wondering if he's still regarding me as a friend or foe. Surely, now, I am going to be labeled as the latter; when their rivalry had first started, we had to choose which one to side on, and I had no choice.

He twirls his white hair in his finger lazily, still staring at me, unfazed.

_I don't want to fight you, you know._

He mutters this as lowly as he could, hoping not to catch anyone else's attention.

I laugh mirthlessly, feeling the hollow space in my throat.

_I don't want to fight you, either._

He glances upward, meeting my eyes; was he _hopeful_? I place the cigarette stick between my lips and flick the lighter. The hallway soon reeks of smoke. An unhealthy smell, but I like it.

_That could kill you._

I blow a puff of smoke from my mouth and tilt my head. Why does he bother, anyway?

I ask it out loud.

His features change; a shadow of doubt crosses his face, but he answers anyway.

_I don't know._

My eyes widen with his answer, but I know that it was better than anything else. I glance at my game and realize that it has been blinking feebly for a few minutes now. I can still feel his blank stare fixed upon my face, yet I made no move to acknowledge it. I fumble once more—to search for batteries now—and groaned audibly when I found none.

_I have some batteries in my room,_ he says, observing my frustrated gestures.

_What do you use them for?_

_To make posts._

_Posts?_

_For my city._

I laugh again, clutching my side, thinking of batteries being used for lampposts.

He does not retort; instead, he watches me fixatedly as if there was something interesting on my face. A puzzle, perhaps.

Finally, after my laughs are subdued, he looks up at me, like some perverse madonna. I don't know how that idea formed in my mind, it just formed.

_Do you want to get them?_

I do not feel any kind of sarcasm in his tone, nor is there any hint of annoyance in his features; all I see is his wide grey eyes, flickering by the moonlight.

_No._

He nods, and turns away.

_I'd rather look at your city,_ I call out after him.

He wheels around, slowly, and glances at me questioningly.

_I want to look at your city. What is it made of?_

Near's face breaks into a small smile, and he leads me the way.

**OWARI.**

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A.N.: Ahh. Matt/Near. 8D I love these two. 

Reviews are totally loved!


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